


Distraction

by Splinter



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Begging, Car Sex, Established Relationship, F/M, Furiosa on top, Light Dom/sub, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Movie(s), inappropriate vehicular activities, smut art prompt, war rig sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-24 13:30:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7510222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splinter/pseuds/Splinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When she’s like this, she could bind him by a thread and he’d stay where she wanted him. </p><p>Fill for the <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Smutty_artsPromptChallenge">smutty_arts art prompt challenge</a>, inspired by <a href="http://youkaiyume.tumblr.com/post/147496634828/filthy-smut-warning-a-prompt-i-drew-for-a-smut">this NSFW art</a> by the wonderful <a href="http://youkaiyume.tumblr.com/">youkaiyume</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Distraction

The new rig will have its first trade run in three days. It’s as good as the Citadel’s blackthumbs can make it. Everything has been tested and retested; there is one more full crew check scheduled before the run. No problems have yet emerged. Late at night, Max and Furiosa are still working on it.

There are plenty of differences between this and the original war rig – they haven’t put skulls everywhere, for a start – but Max can’t help seeing both as Furiosa’s. Her mind and her skill are all over it, in solutions and systems, the way controls and weapons are in reach of her flesh hand or modified to work with her prosthetic. 

She hasn’t finished with it, can’t let herself finish with it. They’re in the back seat of the cab, checking sightlines and defensive positions. She’s moved one of the mirrors to a new position, and back again, twice. Max can see the strain in her neck and shoulders, in the way she prods at her adjustments. They’re both twitchy, wound up to the point where they’re overthinking things. He can see her tension, feel his own; he thinks they need to get out of here. He leans in and kisses her neck.

She murmurs, lets herself press against him, but she’s preoccupied. Her eyes go back to the mirror. Max kisses her again, then bites her shoulder. 

That gets her attention. She turns and grabs him, wrestling him back onto the wide back seat. He bucks her off and pounces on her. The cab is roomy but really too confined for sparring, not much space to get in and out of holds. They’re wedged in and grappling, bodies crashing together, panting hard. 

Max loves feeling Furiosa’s strength, loves knowing that she isn’t fragile. She’s a vicious, dirty fighter, with a sharp eye for weakness and for opportunity. She can always take what he throws at her. They’re both grinning: they need this, need to get out of their heads. Max growls at the sight of her, her green eyes and bared teeth, as he tries to get her clamped between his thighs. She twists again, knocks him back onto the seat and scrambles on top. She kisses him.

“Here,” she says, into his ear, bites at his neck when he pauses.

“We’ll be seen,” he says. It’s an exaggeration: the garage is already quiet, most of the workers have stopped for the night. It’s true that the rig is in pride of place, hardly a dark corner if anyone does come through. He shifts under her, thinks it’s time to go back to her room. It’s still a wonder to him, having a truly safe place to sleep. It’s surprising, now that he thinks of it, that they have a room and have fucked in much less defended places: in store rooms, in corridors, in the gardens. Though he has to admit, no place could be more hers than the cab of the rig.

“Don’t care,” she says, and that edgy energy is still running through her. He gives her a look, reaches for the door handle. She catches his wrist with her flesh hand.

“Here,” she says again, her voice soft. Max goes still under her. It’s not the wrestling, or the physical power, though he likes both. That wasn’t her command voice. It’s quieter and more absolute. She’s looking straight at him, letting him see that she needs this. He badly wants her to take it. 

When she lets go, he leaves his hand in the air for a moment. She looks at it, looks at him. Then she takes his arm again.

With her metal hand, she takes his other wrist, lifts both his arms over his head. She pins his hands lightly together, against the frame of the window. It’s a hold he could break out of without difficulty. He isn’t going to. When she’s like this, she could bind him by a thread and he’d stay where she wanted him. She leans in and kisses him, a soft brush of lips. He moans, and nods. 

She kisses him again, deeper this time, reaching for his belt with her flesh hand. She’s straddling him, but not grinding, barely touching. He can feel her knees pressing against the outside of his thighs, the graze of her knuckles against his belly as she works on his fastenings. He lifts his hips for her as she tugs his pants down, just enough to get his cock out. He’s already hard and straining, the air cool on his hot skin. He shivers. Furiosa rests her forehead against his for a moment. 

“Stay there.” Then she pulls away, climbs off him. Max watches as she gets her boots off, starts on her leathers. He braces his hands against the window frame, to ease his muscles a little. 

He and Furiosa both look round at the sound of the change of sentries on the lift platform, just outside the main cavern. Anyone walking past the entrance could see him if they looked, stretched out for her with his arms above his head. Max stays where he is. Furiosa goes back to wriggling out of her underwear.

She’s barefoot and half naked when she gets back on top of him. His trousers must be rough against her thighs. He wants to touch her, the softness of her skin and its harder tracery of scars. He can smell how wet she is. She leans in to kiss him, infuriatingly slow, her lips the only part of her he’s actually touching. They’re both breathing hard. 

She reaches down, strokes one finger slowly up his cock, a light touch that makes him whimper and jerk under her. Then she holds him steady and slides on, slow and wet and tight, circling her hips to get the angle right. Once he’s all the way in, she moves her hands back to his wrists as she begins to move.

Max is already panting. Because she’s holding their bodies apart, he’s desperately aware of every point of contact, every brush of skin. There’s the wet slide of her cunt, clenching muscle and the grind of her hips. He can feel cold metal and cool fingers on his wrist. There’s something that might be the tickle of her pubic hair against his – not even a touch, not even on his skin. Her thighs bracket his hips, delicate skin and hard, strong muscle pressed against him. And nothing else.

He’s trying to keep his hands still, not to break away and touch her. He can smell her skin, the sweat and slick of her body. With his head tipped down, he can see her nipples peaking under her shirt, glimpses of flushed skin, of the way her hips are moving. She grinds harder, and he groans.

Words desert Max easily. He’s long past them now, making helpless little begging noises as she works her hips, her muscles skilful. She leans in to rest her forehead against his. It’s a grounding touch. It’s many, many days since she wore imperator’s grease, but he feels she might leave a different kind of mark on him.

“Please, please,” he gets out. She kisses his cheek, bites at his jaw, goes on grinding. 

“Please,” he says, again. It comes out as a long moan. “Touch yourself?” He loves being inside her when she comes: the way her body takes over, going from sure control to twitching abandon. He wants to feel that now, when he’s stretched out under her hands. She doesn’t always come during penetrative sex, needs a hand on her clit to get her there. He wants to touch her, or to feel her touch herself. He won’t last much longer, in any case.

Furiosa kisses his cheek again. She adjusts the grip of her hands, spreading her metal fingers to cover his, bringing her flesh hand to his lips. When she slides two fingers into his mouth, Max gasps and gulps, sucking at them. There’s a wet noise when she pulls her hand away, another when she slides it between her legs. The back of her hand touches his belly for a moment; he shivers, his stomach muscles clenching.

Max can feel the difference in her body. He can definitely tell when she speeds up, panting a little harder. His arms are burning, sweat running down his back as he lies back under her, open and raw. 

Furiosa groans, leans her forehead against his. Everything clenches, a shudder going through his body. He can hear himself sobbing as he comes, his cock pulsing as she strokes and grinds and clenches around him.

She’s still pumping her hips as he finishes, as he starts to come back to himself. He’s splayed out for her, feeling her twitch as she comes. He moans again at the feel of it, her body letting go as she holds him in place. She sits panting for a moment, then slowly releases the grip of her metal hand.

Max drops his arms awkwardly around her, his hands clumsy from the ache in his muscles. He rests them on her thigh and buttock, wanting bare skin. 

Furiosa is leaning against him, their bodies pressed together, loose and slack. She kisses his face, cheeks and chin and mouth. Max hums, can’t do more than that. He’s almost out of it, as if she’s cut his strings. Her body is warm against his, her belts digging into him. As his cock softens, he’s aware of the mess they’re both in, sticky with come. The rig cab smells of sex. He wonders if they’ve stained the seat. 

In a moment, they’ll go back to her room. He wants to bury his face between her legs and lick her clean, lie naked in bed and touch her all over. Not just yet. For the moment, he sits sprawled and woozy on the wide back seat, feeling her cuddled against him.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm at [lurkinghistoric](http://lurkinghistoric.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr.


End file.
